


to the brim with fright

by hereforlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Halloween, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 20:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17311697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereforlou/pseuds/hereforlou
Summary: The only reason he’s here is because it’s tradition. And also, Harry said it’d be fun to make Liam wet himself in fear and Louis agreed. It’ll be hilarious. He’s not an insecure new transfer anymore, thank you very much. It took him no more than a week to insert himself into a group, to get invited to his first party, and to start crushing on someone—he’s not what anyone would call socially impaired. He doesn’t need validation.(Or, the one where Louis’ high and scared and Harry’s...also high and scared.)





	to the brim with fright

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so, so much to [Nic](http://louandhazaf.tumblr.com/) for her help and for being so sweet! 
> 
> This fic is a fluffy/spooky/silly little thing to start the year with. Title is from TNBC's _This is Halloween_ , of course. Hope you like it!
> 
> Here's a [Tumblr](https://hereforlou.tumblr.com/post/181741076651/to-the-brim-with-fright-complete-14k-the-only) post.

“I just feel like shagging in a haunted house is a sure way to get possessed, you know?” Louis says, sprawled as much as he can in the driver’s seat of his tincan of a car. His joint is down to the nub, his fingertips tender from where he’s already burned them with his lighter a few times too many. He’s got the stupid urge to eat the roach—he’s high enough by now that he actually considers it for a second—but he tucks it in the rusty ashtray in the console before he can embarrass himself. For later.

“Are you shagging a demon in this scenario? Or is it a ghost?” Zayn drawls from the passenger seat, feet on the dashboard. His skin looks more grey than silver in the dim light of the car. He still has half a spliff left, because, unlike Louis, he hasn’t been sharing with someone else all night.

 _“No,_ but, you know, people are… vulnerable and, like, susceptible in the middle of,” he gestures with his hand, “things.” His eyes flick towards the rearview mirror and back down before he can make eye contact, his heart beating a tad too fast. The windows are fogged up with condensation. From outside, they probably look like suspicious, shadowy blobs. Not that anyone’s around to see them, but. Louis clears his throat. “Give us a hit?”

Zayn passes the joint over and then brings his lighter up. His tinfoil hat is slipping to the side and revealing a bit of hair that was spared from the spray paint dye job. Louis closes his lips around the tip of the spliff and takes a long hit, watches paper flare up right under his nose, feels his throat burn.

“Susceptible to demonic possession?” Zayn asks belatedly, staring at the burning tip of the spliff with the half-lidded intensity of the properly stoned.

Louis rolls his eyes and exhales out the side of his mouth. A puff of milky smoke floats past his lips, adding to the dense air in the car.

“To anything. They’re open, you know,” he says and then feels his cheeks heat up. He resists the urge to check the mirror again. He shouldn’t be allowed to speak when he’s this high.

“Were you planning on trying to prove this theory right tonight?” Zayn asks and Louis scoffs.

“You think I’d risk getting fucking possessed for a shag?”

“Yeah, think you would, actually,” Zayn says, looking serious and thoughtful. Louis squints at him, as usual unsure of just how high the bloke is, if he’s joking or not. “If, like, the right person was there and all.”

There’s a rustle from the backseat, a little cough. Louis resolutely doesn’t look.

“So I’m that desperate, you think.”

“Yeah.”

“Good to know,” Louis mutters, throwing himself back in his seat and then reaching over his shoulder. Warm fingers brush against his as they pluck the joint from his hand. A moment later, there’s a snick and a flash of orange light hits the corner of Louis’ vision for a second, two. A breath, a beat, and an exhale.

Louis wipes the condensation off his window with his sleeve and looks out. The house is sitting there, just across the dirt road, beyond a wire fence and a few yards of scraggly brown grass. It doesn’t look like much, just an abandoned old cottage in the country, one of many around these parts. Louis isn’t sure what makes this one particularly popular. Maybe the fact that it hasn’t been reclaimed by nature like the others. It isn’t crawling with vegetation so dense its walls have caved under the weight, and even the few trees growing nearby look sick and bare. During the day, the small building is a charred carcass amid dead ground, soiling the otherwise picturesque view of the green hills and fertile fields that surround it. It looks creepy as fuck.

“Why’re we doing this again?” Louis asks no one in particular.

“S’a rite of passage to, like, assert your belonging in a new social setting and stuff.”

“Right.” He’s not quite sure Zayn’s making sense.

“I thought we’re just trying to scare Liam,” Harry says from behind them after a second or two, his first words since they started smoking. He sounds just as flat and morbid as ever, and the sound of his voice sends a shiver down Louis’ spine.

“That, too,” Louis tells him.

“I don’t feel like I need to assert my belonging,” Harry goes on, sounding like he’s talking to himself. Louis peeks over his shoulder. Harry’s eyes are closed, head against the headrest so that all Louis can see is the long, pale column of his throat, stark against the dimness.

“Some people need more validation than others,” Zayn says. His eyebrows twitch when Louis looks at him.

“Excuse me, are you talking about me?” Louis asks, needled. The only reason he’s here is because it’s tradition. And also, Harry said it’d be fun to make Liam wet himself in fear and Louis agreed. It’ll be hilarious. He’s not an insecure new transfer anymore, thank you very much. It took him no more than a week to insert himself into a group, to get invited to his first party, and to start crushing on someone—he’s not what anyone would call socially impaired. He doesn’t need validation.

Zayn’s reply is a half-hearted shrug, and before Louis can open his mouth again, there’s a flash of headlights behind them as another car pulls up the road.

“That’d be them,” Zayn mumbles, drawing lazy twirls on the window with his finger. He takes what’s left of his joint back from Harry when he taps his shoulder, and puts it in his pocket.

They wait for a minute and then there’s the sound of footsteps rushing over. Both back doors open at the same time and Liam and Niall shove themselves into the car, jostling Harry and making him groan as he’s knocked from side to side.

“Oh, thank fuck it’s warm,” Niall breathes, and then, “Did you smoke without us?”

 _“Quit it,”_ Harry’s whining, batting Liam’s hands away from where they’re trying to slip into his jumper. Out of all them, Harry’s the one who lucked out with his costume. He’s all fleece and wool, looks cozy enough to cuddle against. “Liam!” he squeals and tries to wriggle away, movements clumsier than usual. Louis turns all the way around to see Liam’s managed to stick his probably-freezing-cold hand inside Harry’s top and right against his stomach, and his chest does a twisty, snappy thing he doesn’t like.

“Toto! Bad dog! No groping allowed in the car!” he yells, trying to tamp down his annoyance.

Zayn snorts.

“Heat’s not working in my car, Tommo,” Liam says, snuggling in close to Harry. “We nearly died driving out here.”

Harry’s stopped struggling, at least, mellow enough to sit back and let Liam have his wicked way with him. Louis is suddenly very glad of what they’re here to do—Liam definitely has it coming. Louis’ going to record him soiling his embarrassing shorts and put it up on YouTube.

“Seriously, did you smoke up in here?” Niall insists, sounding done with all of them already. It’s not like anyone needs to answer; the inside of the car smells like weed and mothballs, the latter thanks to the blankets Louis scavenged from his aunt’s attic. “Could’ve waited for us, lads.”

Before Louis can start arguing (nerves make him snappy and he knows for a fact Niall’s got his own stash tucked somewhere among the padding inside his shirt), Zayn hands Niall his lighter and what’s left of his blunt. Niall makes a face at the soggy tip, courtesy of Harry and his ridiculous lips, but lights up anyway.

It’s quiet for a bit. Liam’s resting his head on Harry’s fuzzy shoulder, still shivering. Louis feels a little sorry for him, so he tugs one of the blankets from the footwell on the passenger side and passes it over.

“Don’t freeze your bollocks off, come on,” he says, a little gruffly because Liam’s not moving away from Harry even as he takes the blanket. If anything, he cuddles up closer before covering them both up. Harry burrows in and Louis clenches his jaw so as not to say something uncalled for. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he mutters.

“Couldn’t we’ve done this in June or something?” Liam asks.

“Halloween’s not in June,” Harry says, which saves Louis from having to give a slightly ruder answer. “S’tradition.”

“Yeah, Payne, it’s tradition.”

“A ritual,” Harry goes on, “to belong and stuff.”

“Ritual? You make it sound like we’re here to summon a demon or something,” Niall says. He sounds a lot less moody than he did two minutes ago, which is good news for everyone. Niall’s the sort of lad that’ll bail on them if they get too annoying. He’d steal Louis’ keys and drive away by himself, Louis is sure.  

“We’re not?” Harry asks, and there’s a pause before Louis sees his mouth quirk up into a little smile. Louis lets out a rueful laugh.

“Yeah, Haz, we’re here to summon a demon.”

“Louis was just talking about shagging one,” Zayn says and Louis squawks.

“I was not!”

“Or a ghost.”

“A ghost sounds like it’d be lonely, though. Could you even touch it?” Liam muses.

“A demon sounds like it’d be into extreme stuff,” Niall supplies. “Like knives and blood sacrifices and shit.”

“Bet they’ve got big willies, demons,” Harry offers and effectively cuts through the conversation, ridiculous as it is. When everyone stares at him, he adds, “‘Cause they’re half donkey?”

There’s silence for a moment. This is something Harry does a lot, render people speechless whenever he chooses to share one of the stupid things that cross his mind. It usually happens when he’s high.  

“I think they’re half goat,” Zayn says, not sounding the least bit disturbed, seeing as he’s had eighteen years to get used to Harry’s weird. Louis has loads of catching up to do.

“Oh.” Harry blinks up at the roof and then looks straight at Louis, eyes all pupil. “How big are goat dicks?”

Louis splutters as Niall cracks up, too loud in the tiny car.

“How the fuck should I know that?!”

He sees Harry shrug, sees his cheeks turning pink. At least he seems to realise he’s made things awkward. Good. He can’t go around asking about animal genitalia like he’s asking about the weather. Someone should’ve taught him that by now.

Niall’s still laughing. He sounds like he’s choking, coughing as he bends over his knees.

Louis turns so he’s facing forward again and grabs the wheel, just to do something with his hands. His head feels a little stuffy, and he knows he’s going to be useless later, it always takes a while to hit him. They need to get moving.

“Why was Louis talking about shagging a half-goat demon then?” Liam asks and Louis smacks his forehead against the wheel. Liam _never_ knows when to let a subject drop.

“I wasn’t,” he whines.

“Just a regular demon,” Harry helpfully pipes in and now Louis feels truly betrayed. He’ll take the spooky cottage over this assassination of his character any day.

“Are we doing this or not?” He sits up. “Everyone’s got his phone? Blanket? Snacks?”

“I haven’t got a blanket, Tommo.”

“I was in charge of the drugs not the food.”

“I think I left my mobile back in my car.”

“We can google goat d—”

“Okay!” Louis speaks over everyone, hand on the door handle. Twats, all of them. He still meets Harry’s eye in the rearview mirror and sends him a quick wink, unable to resist. He watches Harry smile against Liam’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

.

Harry goes through stages after he smokes. He gets quiet and introspective at first, his head kind of swimmy. Sometimes thoughts pop up and he has to let them out as his brain to mouth filter lags. At least he’s aware he’s said something silly, when he catches up, but by then he’s usually so high he doesn’t care. That’s where he’s at right about now, talking about goat penises and unable to muster up enough embarrassment to shut up.

It’s a good thing he’s almost a hundred percent sure Louis likes him enough to endure it.

Then, though, he gets tactile. Textures are insane, is the thing. They all feel so different depending on where they’re touching him. The blanket Liam’s thrown over both of them is sort of scratchy against Harry’s neck, but feels nice and soft underneath his palms. It smells terrible, though, like it’s been sitting inside a box for a decade, at least. Liam’s hair smells better, so Harry buries his nose there instead and then marvels at the prickle of it against his cheeks.

He knows Louis’ hair’s softer, much nicer to nuzzle against. Not that Harry gets to do it often but he’s hoping he’ll get to tonight. He’s got his own sneaky, selfish motives for wanting to come out here, after all.

“Let’s go, then,” Liam mumbles, startling Harry out of his very serious thoughts. “Gotta get my phone.”

He opens the door and slips out of the car, letting in the chill and leaving Harry bundled up under his blanket alone. On his other side, Niall leaves as well. Harry could very easily curl up on the seat and go to sleep. He likes this car, even if it’s tiny and takes forever to start when it’s cold. Harry’s taken enough naps in here to know just how to arrange himself not to have a sore back later.

“Haz, we’re moving, come on,” Louis says then, before Harry can lie all the way down. He opens his eyes to see Louis leaning inside through the door Liam left open. He’s wearing a jacket over his costume, which is technically cheating, but Harry knows he gets cold easily so he doesn’t mention it.

“I’m sorry I said that about the goat dicks,” he says instead. It seems like a good idea until he finishes processing, and then he wants to bite his tongue off. Louis laughs, though, so maybe it’s okay. Louis likes him a lot after all.

“Me, too.”

“I would’ve gone with the skirt,” Harry says.

“I know.”

It’s nice that Louis can keep up with Harry when not even Harry’s aware he’s going to say something until it’s out of his mouth. Harry’s been wanting to mention the lack of skirt since he first saw Louis in his costume hours ago, though, so the comment was bound to slip out eventually. Louis’ wearing dungarees instead of the dress Harry’s been picturing him in since they decided on their costumes. They’re checkered light blue and white and they’re _tight._ He has chucks on his feet, covered in red sequins, and two tiny, tiny braids sticking out from behind his ears.

He holds out his hands for Harry to take.

It’s cold outside, and Harry’s glad for his jumper and joggers when the crisp wind hits his face and makes him flinch. It serves to wake him up a bit, the fog in his head lifting slightly. He’s unsteady on his feet, the ground uneven and crunchy under his trainers, and he sways as he gets his bearings. Over the roof of the car he can see the house. It’s a dark shadow there in the middle of the field, it even looks a little sunken into the ground, like it’s slowly being dragged back to hell or something. Fuck, but it’s a creepy house. Harry’s been wary of it since he was a kid, and he’s only ever seen it during the day when it doesn’t look particularly intimidating. It’s probably the weed making him extra paranoid, but he suddenly wants them to leave.

He’s startled by Louis again when he hands Harry the blanket he had in the car. Harry takes it and watches Louis go around to the boot to take out a duffel before locking the doors.

“Got everything?”

“Um, I’ve got the blanket,” Harry says. He’s not sure what else he’s supposed to have. Louis huffs, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles. He has the nicest smile, even nicer that Zayn’s, and not as rare to see. Louis laughs loads, grins at teachers, makes silly faces at the younger kids at school, but Harry’s quite sure Louis’ got a special smile reserved only for _him._ Harry’s never seen it directed at anyone else (he would know, he watches Louis _a lot)_ and, okay, he’s feeling a little better already.

“Hold on to it,” Louis says, still smiling, and Harry hugs the smelly blanket to his chest.

“Got my phone!” Liam calls from his car and Harry slowly becomes aware of Niall and Zayn standing at the edge of the property they’re about to trespass, two shadows passing a small orange light back and forth. Liam is walking towards them.

“Ready?” Louis asks Harry. Harry was ready before—like, when he was at home and this whole thing felt like a fun, faraway adventure—he’s not so sure now.

“Um, yeah,” he mumbles anyway. Still hugging the blanket to his chest, he follows Louis towards the rest of the boys, walking so close behind him he steps on his heels more than once, but Louis doesn’t complain.

“Still in character, Haz?” Louis asks over his shoulder.

“Huh?”

Louis doesn’t answer but Harry’s too distracted by the unnerving view of the house coming closer as they cross the road. Harry’s not one to get scared easily—he falls asleep during horror films more often than he gets to the endings of them—but he can feel his stomach going tight with nerves at the thought of going through with their plan. Thank God he saved his extra joint for later, he can feel himself coming down fast. He doesn’t think he can do this sober.  

He stumbles into Louis’ back when he stops walking all of a sudden, making him stumble into Niall.

“Sorry,” Harry whispers. He feels like they shouldn’t be making noise so close to the house, like it might hear them.

“Are we waiting for something?” Louis asks the group, resting the duffel on the ground between his feet.

Zayn shrugs. “Just you.”

“Well, come on, it’s cold out here.”

“You think it’ll be warmer inside that tomb over there?” Niall asks. Harry likes his hat, even with the straw sticking out of it. He focuses on that instead of on the word ‘tomb’.

“You’re not backing down, are you?” Louis stands straighter, back bumping against Harry because he’s still standing as close as possible. There’s a hopeful tilt to his voice, like he’s _hoping_ Niall will back down. Maybe he’s scared, too.

“Lou, are you scared?” Harry asks him, low and leaning in close. Louis goes tense and he glares at him over his shoulder.

“No, Harold, I’m not fucking scared.”

He sounds angry and Harry’s not sure why. They’re all a bit scared, it’s fine. Harry just thinks that if Louis’ having second thoughts he should speak up. Harry would very much like to go back to the car, but not if it’ll ruin everyone else’s fun. He has to remind himself that staying the night _(this_ night, Halloween night) in the house is tradition. Tradition is important, especially for Louis, because he’s sort of the new kid, still. Harry should remember that.

Also, he still really wants to scare Liam.

Also, he’s got his own secret plan to fulfil.

They start walking towards the house. There’s a section of the fence that’s been cut, probably by another group of Year 13 kids decades ago, and they file through the opening one after the other. Zayn, Liam, Niall, Louis, and Harry, who’s holding onto his blanket like a lifeline. It gets colder the closer they get.

The grass crunches under Harry’s heels, and when something brushes against the back of his legs, Harry screams into scratchy fabric.

He sees Louis jump, hears the surprised shouts of the other boys, but Harry’s frozen in place, too scared to look down. He imagines hands sprouting from the earth and clinging to his ankles and wishes he weren’t so bloody high. Everything in front of him looks a little more sinister and crooked than it really is.

“What’s wrong?” Louis’ asking, a little shrill.

Harry opens his mouth to answer when he feels it again, the soft brush of something against his calves, and he jumps with a squawk.

“What, what?” Louis asks, dropping his duffel and turning fully, hands up. “What is it?”

Harry looks down, mouth open to answer that a ghost is tickling his legs, when he sees his tail swinging behind him. Right, he has a tail tonight.

“I—nothing. I, I thought something was touching me,” he mumbles.

“Gave me a heart attack’s what you did,” Louis says. “Are you okay?”

Harry nods. Maybe he’s not high _enough._ Maybe that’s the problem, not the other way around. He doesn’t understand why he’s the only one freaking out. He was _fine_ in the car. They should have stayed in the car.

“Haz,” Louis says, softer. Harry looks up. He can see the other boys over Louis’ shoulder, walking away towards the house. Louis comes closer. “You wanna leave? I know it’s creepy as fuck, we can leave if you want.”

But Harry isn’t so scared anymore. Not when all he can see are Louis’ eyes and the earnest expression on his face. He can do anything just as long as Louis always looks at him like this.

“We can keep going,” he says. “We’ve got a plan.”

Louis sighs with a smile. “That we do.”

Somewhere close by, an owl hoots and Harry’s knees nearly buckle.

“Maybe hold my hand, though,” he says, not even trying to smile to look like he’s joking. Louis looks just as spooked and serious when he grabs Harry’s hand and squeezes.

“I can do that,” he says. “Come on.”

They stop so that Louis can pick up his bag and then they keep walking, hand in hand. The rest of the boys are already standing by the decrepit front door. Harry’s surprised there’s even a door at all, and he’s not sure if he’s relieved or not. A door might keep animals out but would keep _them_ in. The thought of being trapped inside the house is too scary to entertain, though, so Harry shakes it off and focuses on Louis and the strong grip of his hand, the sparkle of his shoes in the dark.

“What’s this?” Niall asks, gesturing at them with a smirk.

“Harry’s in character,” Louis says. “Cowardly Lion at his finest.”

Harry can only nod. The two little buns he’s put his hair in to look like lion ears wobble with the movement.

“I don’t remember Dorothy holding the lion’s hand in the film.”

“Well, I remember the scarecrow getting set on fire,” Louis snaps back and Harry laughs, loud like a crack in the stillness around them. He manages to scare himself even more. If there’s a witch living in this house, Harry’s just alerted them that a bunch of stupid eighteen-year-olds are planning to squat in their house for the night.

“Sorry,” he whispers and hides his face in the stinky blanket. He feels Louis brush his thumb along the back of his hand and has to stifle another nervous laugh.

This is stage four of High Harry: the giggles.

Niall and Louis are bickering in hushed voices and Liam shifts his weight from foot to foot behind them, arms around himself. Zayn’s standing a little off to the side, reflecting light and being generally aloof. Harry wonders who would be eaten by a witch first. Liam and Louis are quite athletic and could run to safety before anyone could blink, and Niall is slippery and small, he’d probably slip right through a witch’s hands. Zayn would meld with the wallpaper standing in a dark corner and save himself that way.

Harry’d most likely knock something over trying to escape and get caught first. Or he’d manage to hide and then give himself away by giggling at fucking nothing, like he’s doing now.

He really shouldn’t have accepted that second spliff—no matter if sharing with Louis makes his heart stutter in his chest every time.

“Boys, can we go in now? I’m freezing my nipples off,” Liam begs, and Harry has to agree that, even though he himself feels quite toasty in his costume, Liam’s looking a little blue around the lips. It’s not their fault he’s gone with the sexy version of his costume.

(Okay, it is their fault. He and Louis might have made Liam believe they were all going to go with the sexy versions, as disturbing as the existence of sexy Scarecrow or sexy Tin-Man costume is to Harry. It’s Liam’s fault, too, though, for being so gullible and such a good sport. It’s his own fault he’s dressed like he’s headed to some kind of fetish party instead of a sleepover at a haunted house.)

Liam’s plead breaks up the argument between Louis and Niall, and then they all turn towards the door as one. Harry feels like a child, hugging his blanket and holding Louis’ hand as he swallows his nerves. The house probably belongs to someone, even if by some small chance it’s not as haunted as it looks. They might not get killed by evil spirits but they could end up in prison for breaking and entering. They’re all eighteen. They’re all eighteen-year-old arseholes about to do something really stupid.

Just then Louis turns to look at Harry over his shoulder. His nose is red from the cold, and one of his little pigtails has come undone.

“Ready?” he asks, blue eyes searching Harry’s face. Harry would follow him to the scariest, darkest, most horrible of places.

“Ready.”

.

When they finally go inside, Harry whispers “Excuse me” like he’s trying to be polite to whatever’s living in the house. It gives Louis goosebumps, the possibility that they’re being watched, that Harry’s actually talking to someone. Or something. Fuck, this place is terrifying. It’s the dark that does it. Louis is sure the room they’re huddled in could manage to look alright during the day. But at night, with nothing but their phone lights and Zayn’s reflective costume to brighten the space around them, it feels like they’re about to be sucked into the darkness. And no one’s within a five kilometer radius to hear them scream.

They stand there for a few seconds, listening to the house creak, Harry’s hand in Louis’, before they all seem to have the same idea at the same time: act like their normal selves and hope they don‘t get murdered. They all unlock their shoulders as one, shifting to a more relaxed stance.

“So!” Louis says, the first to break the silence after Harry’s bizarre greeting. His voice only sounds slightly off, just a tiny bit too high. “Where shall we set up camp?”

“Somewhere warm, please,” Liam says, teeth actually chattering. Louis _told_ him to take a blanket from the car, and he’s not about to take Harry’s because Liam’s decided to dress like some sort of kinky stripper, complete with dog ears and a bloody tail curling out the back of his shorts. Louis has no idea what goes on in the kid’s head.

Before Louis can say anything, though, Harry offers the blanket up himself before crowding closer to Louis and grabbing his hand with both of his.

“If he gets frostbite on his knob, it’s on us,” he murmurs in Louis’ ear before letting out a breathy giggle. Louis shudders at the tickle of lips on his skin. Harry’s very dick-focused tonight. First goats’ and now Liam’s. Maybe if Louis’d gone with the skirt Harry’d be more preoccupied with _his._

“We should explore,” Niall says, aiming his phone at a corridor stretching further inside the house. It looks like a tunnel leading straight to the underworld and Louis wants nothing to do with it. He’s fine right here.

“Um,” he starts to protest, desperately trying to come up with a reason why they should stay where they are without looking like a tit in front of Harry. “Here should be fine. The roof’s not caved in and _jesusfuckingchrist!”_

 _“Whaaat?!”_ Liam squeals as they all crash closer to each other. Louis backs against Harry’s chest, pushing him into the middle of the circle. If he dies of a heart attack, at least Harry will have time to run away while whatever the fuck lives here maneuvers around Louis’ corpse.

“Something was moving over there,” Louis says, aiming his light towards the sad pile of bricks that looks like it used to be the fireplace.

“Probably rats,” Zayn says somewhere behind him. He sounds way too chill.

“No one said anything about rats,” Niall protests immediately. “I’m not sleeping in a bloody rat’s nest, no bloody way.”

“What’d you expect in the middle of an abandoned field?”

“Spiders, or owls. Not _rats.”_

Louis can feel Harry’s heart thumping against his back, that’s how close they’re pressed together. He’s still clasping Louis’ hand with both of his, slick with sweat and right over Louis’ stomach, which means he’s got his arms around Louis’ body and is breathing against his nape. Not a bad place to be actually, if Louis thinks about it.  

“Maybe they come through the chimney,” Harry says, voice low and quiet. Louis feels the words vibrate against his back.

“Let’s get away from here.” Niall detaches himself from the huddle and walks over to the corridor. The uneven padding inside his clothes makes him look lumpy everywhere, and it would be hilarious if the sight of him inching into the darkness didn’t make Louis so anxious. As he walks, the light from his phone reveals rotting walls, loose floorboards, and what can only be animal droppings.

The rest of them shuffle forward like a four-headed, eight-legged creature scared of its own shadow, stepping on each other’s toes and clinging to each other’s clothes. The closer they get to the doorway with their own phones held up, the brighter it gets, and soon Louis can see the doors dotting the hallway, all shut tight.

Then, Niall says the worst thing Louis has heard in his entire life.

“We should split up.”

Harry actually laughs, a little hysterical and right in Louis’ ear, making him flinch.

“Sure, Fred, great idea,” Louis mutters, rubbing his ear with his shoulder and aiming his light at the ceiling. There a big stain there that looks moldy and bloated, like severe water damage but _evil._

“Why not? What’s the point of coming in here if we don’t make it proper scary?”

“Is this not scary enough for you, Niall? Liam’s wearing a fucking collar,” Louis snipes and Harry laughs again, trying to muffle the sound on Louis’ jacket.

“Hey! Lay off my costume, mate,” Liam says.

“Yeah, like you’re one to talk, Tommo.”

“What?”

“Those are some _tight_ trousers you got on,” Niall says, not even looking at him, and Liam huffs in agreement somewhere to his left.

Louis opens his mouth to defend himself but… can’t. The idea was to spend as little money as possible on their costumes. That meant driving to the charity shop one town over and taking advantage of his sisters’ penchant for sticking sequins and rhinestones on everything they get their hands on. The dungarees Louis’ wearing were two pounds and a size too small. He had to lie down and thrash in bed for a good five minutes to squeeze them past his thighs, but he’s been catching Harry eyeing his legs since they met up at Zayn’s so it’s not like he’s not happy with the result.

Liam’s costume, on the other hand, is a silly prank gone awry, but Louis has to admire the lad’s courage. He would have changed as soon as he realised he’d been tricked, but Liam took it in stride. It’s not everyday he gets to remind them all of the fact that he’s the only one in the group with a proper six pack.

“I think they suit me,” Louis finally says.

“They’re very nice,” Harry mumbles into the back of his neck and thank God it’s dark in the deathtrap they’ve walked into because Louis can feel his face go scarlet, lips stretching into a helpless, close-mouthed smile. He nudges Harry’s belly with his elbow and says nothing.

“We could split up and spend the night in different rooms; make it exciting,” Niall proposes and Louis’ stomach drops to his feet. Spending the night in the house is already terrifying enough, but alone? There’s no way. Not that _he’s_ going to be the one to refuse. He hopes someone else says something. Maybe Liam will complain about needing to share body heat to survive, or Harry will say something about it being more fun if they’re together. But no one says a thing because they’re all too fucking proud and eager to prove themselves and Louis hates that he’s exactly the same.

Niall walks past the doorway and stands in the corridor, pointing his phone at each of the doors there. There’s four of them. Two on the left side, one on the right, and one at the very end. The last one is by far the creepiest, and the one Louis most adamantly wants nothing to do with.

So of course that’s where he ends up three minutes later, standing with one hand on the rusty doorknob and the other still tangled with Harry’s because “we can each take one room but you get the spookiest one because there’s two of you, Tommo.” As if the fact that Louis wasn’t planning on letting go of Harry was written all over his face.

“If this is some kind of cellar or some rubbish like that, I’m out,” he says over his shoulder. The rest of the boys are all standing in front of different doors, each holding up their phone. Liam is all bundled up in Harry’s blanket, Zayn is reflecting what little light there is and making the small hallway sparkle with his costume, and Niall is staring right at Louis, the expression on his face smug and knowing.

If the kid thinks he’s doing Louis a favour by putting him and Harry in a situation where Louis will most likely scream like his ten-year-old sister and look like a twat then he’s sorely mistaken.

“It’s okay,” Harry says, pulling Louis’ attention away from Niall. “At least we’re together, yeah?”

It’s possible Louis’ heart swells to twice its size. Harry’s got whiskers drawn on his cheeks, the tip of his nose is painted black with, he told Louis earlier, his sister’s eyeliner. He looks dazed but solid, firm on his feet, like he probably won’t fall on his face if they have to run for their lives in the near future.

“Yeah,” Louis says and swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

“Okay, everyone ready?” Niall calls and Louis tightens his grip on the doorknob. He can do this. Harry’s got his duffel, his phone is in his jacket, and his car is just across the field, in case they decide to sneak out and spend the night in the warmth instead. It’s fine. “On the count of three. One,” Louis turns the knob, “two,” he hopes it’s not a cellar, or a cupboard, or the loo, “three!”

Louis pushes open the door and has one second to see an empty, moonlit bedroom before he’s being shoved so hard he stumbles forward several steps, dragging Harry with him. Then the door closes with a slam, and a lock turns, and Niall cackles like the deranged leprechaun he is.

 _“What the fuck?!”_ Louis yells, head spinning even worse now. He turns and charges at the door, twisting the doorknob and pulling, neck growing hot. “What the fuck, Niall?!”

“Gotcha, Tommo!” Niall crows, more animated than Louis’ heard him all night. He can hear Zayn’s and Liam’s voice mumbling something outside, and then Niall says, “I knew you were planning to pull something on us. Harry’s a lousy liar.”

Louis presses his forehead against the door before looking at Harry over his shoulder. He looks a little lost standing in the middle of the room, eyes wide and guilty, even the silly buns in his hair drooping.

“I didn’t tell,” he says quietly. Louis sighs.

“Not all of you!” he calls through the door. “Just Liam!”

“Oi! Why me?!”

“Because you’re wearing a bloody sexy Toto costume, you wanker!”

Niall laughs harder, thumping on the door from the other side, and Louis rattles the doorknob. The door is heavy, shut tight, and how the fuck did they even manage to lock it?

“It’s a rite of passage, Lou,” Zayn says, and he sounds like he’s smiling, the absolute, traitorous _shit._ “So you can really feel like one of us.”

“One of us. One of us,” Niall chants.

“We’ve all done it,” Liam says. Louis knows they’ve all done it. They’ve lived in this bloody joke of a town their whole lives, they’ve done every semi-exciting thing there is to do within county limits twice. Louis moved here from Doncaster and they still call him _city boy_ sometimes, that’s how small and boring the village is. The only reason the house isn’t crawling with teens on Halloween night is because Louis is the only person over the age of twelve who’s never stepped foot in it before tonight. He should have known something was fishy when they all agreed to come with him. What a bunch of dickheads. Louis knew he picked the right friends.

“What about Harry then?” he asks. Poor Harry got dragged into the whole mess. He’s probably just as shocked as Louis, even if the part about trying to prank Liam was his idea, not that Louis’ going to tell. “At least let him out.”

“Harry’s due a sleepover. He’s never stayed here overnight, the big baby,” Niall says. “Besides, I bet he’d rather stay _right_ where he is.”

There’s a thump and some harsh whispering and Louis stays put, eyes on the door, the back of his neck prickling.

“We’ll be going now! We’ll let you out in the morning!”

“Come on, Niall, you arsehole!”

“Sleep tight! Don’t shag any demons!”

“Fuck you!”

The voices fade slowly as Niall and the others move back to the front room and then there’s only Louis, breathing ragged and fists clenched shut, and Harry, suspiciously quiet behind him. Another quick look over his shoulder reveals Harry hunched in on himself, still holding Louis’ duffel strap, chewing on his lip. He looks so out of place in the dim, dirty room that Louis has to shake his head to clear it. Harry looks too much like a dream sometimes.

“They’ve locked us in,” he says, as if Harry needs an update. He’s been here the whole time, he knows what happened. But Louis is useless when they’re by themselves, without the boys acting as buffers. When they’re left alone, Louis turns into a bumbling twat, tripping over his words and having trouble maintaining eye contact. He’s been clinging to his cool new kid image by the fingertips since the first day of class back in September, when he sat himself right in the middle of a group eating dinner in the cafeteria and acted like he belonged there. “Were they all pretending to be scared?”

Harry shuffles his feet.

“I don’t think so,” he mumbles. “I wasn’t pretending. And Liam wasn’t either. He hates it here, too.”

The ‘too’ makes Louis turn fully around, the other boys forgotten.

“You hate it here?”

“Not… not during the day,” Harry says slowly, cautious as if he’s trying not to offend Louis. Or as if he’s still high, also a likely possibility. “S’creepy at night. N’cold.”

“You’re cold?”

“Bit cold.”

Louis takes his jacket off without thinking and offers it to Harry, who hesitates only for a second before reaching out and taking the puffy fabric in his hand. Louis’ definitely underdressed, nothing but a thin t-shirt under his stupid dungarees, but he doesn’t register the cold as Harry smiles.

“Thank you,” he says, low voice gone even deeper. Louis’ bare arms prickle, but he still feels warm from the inside out. He watches Harry put the duffel on the floor and slide Louis’ jacket on and the sight of the boy he fancies wearing his clothes might be almost too much for him. He clears his throat.

“You’ll be cold, though,” Harry says and then he’s opening his arms and there’s a little smirk on his lips and Louis lets out a weird, strangled laugh and faceplants on Harry’s chest.

“Your friends are a bunch of wankers,” he says, and tries not to sniff Harry’s jumper too obviously. He could melt right into a puddle as soon as Harry puts his arms around his back; he even manages to almost forget where they are and for how long they’re staying there. Almost. The short hairs on his arms still stand on end when he hears something scuttling on the old hardwood on the other end of the room.

“S’why I love ‘em,” Harry mumbles against Louis’ shoulder.

Louis scoffs and shuts his eyes. He’s coming down a bit, he thinks, but he’s still loopy. He wouldn’t be hugging Harry if he were completely sober. Probably. Harry’s actually very cuddly on a normal day; it’s one of Louis’ favourite things about him, though he tries not to indulge too much.

The last thing he wants to do is take advantage.

.

Harry _loves_ taking advantage of Louis’ cuddly nature. He loves a good cuddle himself, loves to be petted and squeezed and tickled. He loves that Louis is not afraid to snuggle in close, or to touch Harry’s hair sometimes, or put a gentle hand on his thigh if they’re sitting next to each other, apparently without giving it much thought. Harry’s not sure Louis likes to be touched as much as he likes to touch people himself, and that works perfectly for Harry. He’s spent the last two months in a constant state of anticipation, always half-hoping Louis will lay his hands on him in one way or another. Maybe the situation’s not ideal right now, what with them being locked inside a creepy room in a creepy house that’s rat-infested at best and haunted at worst, but Harry will take any opportunity he gets.

Except… he doesn’t remember exactly the last time he stood in this room—he used to come exploring all the time with the boys when they were younger—but he does remember that there’s a way out.

Having Louis pressed to his front and burying his cold nose against Harry’s neck doesn’t really motivate him to speak up and burst their bubble, but Louis’ slight trembling does. He doesn’t even know why he accepted the jacket, or why Louis offered it in the first place when Harry’s already wearing a thick jumper and Louis’ in nothing but a t-shirt and the wonderful, wonderful dungarees they bought together. They haven’t known each other long, but Harry has the feeling Louis’ used to putting himself second.

“I know a way out,” he mumbles and mourns the loss when Louis moves back to look him in the eye. He chews on his lip to keep himself from pouting.

“You do?”

Harry nods slowly, forgetting how to form words for a moment. Louis is just so pretty in the moonlight, and Harry’s still so high, and they’re still _touching._ Harry’s arms are over Louis’ shoulders, Louis’ hands are clinging to his waist; it’s no wonder Harry goes offline for a bit.

When Louis squeezes his hips, Harry realises his tongue is sticking to the roof of his mouth. Also, he’s been staring.

“Haz? You know how to get us out of here?”

“I think so,” he says, only a little slurred. He’s quite sure the window’s easy to trick open. The wooden frame used to be swollen with rot, but once Liam and Niall managed to force it open a few years ago in one of their excursions, it never closed properly again. It’s probably why it’s colder here than it was in the other room. Yeah, that’s probably it. There probably isn’t a supernatural explanation why he can sort of see his breath fogging in front of his face. “We can leave through the window.”

He watches as Louis turns towards where the light is coming from, watches his face in profile as his brow scrunches up.

“You mean the boarded up window over there?”

It takes a second for the words to reach Harry, and then he looks over and yes, that’s the window he meant.

“That… wasn’t like that before.”

There’s a couple of heavy boards nailed across the big window, with enough space between them to let some light in, which explains why Harry can see enough to realise the room they’re in is completely empty save for themselves and some old furniture, and that there isn’t another door leading to a different room.

“M’sorry.”

Louis shrugs.

“That’s alright. We can manage a few hours by ourselves, right? If anything, I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

Harry wants to tell Louis that he’s more than happy to be dragged anywhere by him, but even hazy as everything is, he knows that’s a bit much. So he rolls his lips into his mouth and says nothing, and Louis stares at him for a second, probably waiting for a reply, before looking off to the side again.

“It was a stupid idea,” he says. “Would’ve been better off watching horror films at Liam’s like you lot had planned.”

“No, it’s tradition,” Harry argues. “It’s fun. We can watch a film anytime.”

“This is fun?” Louis asks, eyebrows quirked.

“Um, yeah. It’s fun with, you know, when you come along, and, um—” Harry’s babbling, and Louis is smiling at him, enjoying the way Harry makes a fool of himself for the umpteenth time tonight. Harry closes his eyes. “Don’t tease.”

“I’m not, love. Just listening to you gush about little old me.”

“I wasn’t gushing.”

“If you say so.” Louis moves away a step, Harry feels his hands sliding away from his hips and drops his own arms to his sides. When he opens his eyes, Louis’ bending down to pick up his duffel bag. His trousers are really quite tight. It’s a wonderful sight. “Let’s find a spot to sit, yeah? Away from the chill.”

Harry shuffles after Louis, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket and trying to think of a way to give it back without being rude or weird about it. It’s not like Louis doesn’t know by now that Harry’s a bit of a weirdo. The day they met, Harry had two chips sticking out of his nose. He was doing a bit as they ate, trying to gross Liam out, and then this kid they’d never seen before had plonked himself down right between Niall and Zayn with a raspy _“Don’t mind me, lads”_ and started in on his food while they all stared. By the time they had to get up to go to class it really did feel like Louis had always been a part of the group, and Harry still had the two chips shoved up his nose.

“So,” Louis said as they walked down the corridor to their next class, which they miraculously shared, _“_ are you saving those for later or something?”

Harry has been embarrassing himself in front of Louis since day one.

They walk to a corner of the room, the one closest to the door, and Louis drops his duffel and crouches so he can unzip it and start rummaging inside. Harry stands behind him, sending furtive glances over his shoulder. Having his back to the room makes his neck prickle.

Eventually, Louis pulls a big piece of fabric from the bag—one of the black cloaks they found when they were looking for their costumes at the charity shop. They planned to dress up in them and scare Liam bald, but now Louis puts the cloth on the floor and gestures Harry to sit down on top of it. Harry obliges, pulling his knees up to his chest and watching as Louis pulls the second cloak out of the bag and drapes it over Harry’s shoulders like a blanket.

“I’ve got some snacks in here if you’re hungry,” Louis says as Harry tries to keep his silly smile and his burning cheeks in check. “I know I’ll be famished in an hour or so.”

“I can wait an hour.”

“Good lad,” Louis tells him distractedly as he looks through the bag. Harry all but swoons. “Scooch a bit.”

Harry does as he’s told, flattening himself against the wall, and Louis crawls into the space left on the cloak, pressing their shoulders together.

Harry takes a corner of the fabric over his shoulders and brings it around Louis, butterflies exploding in his stomach when Louis burrows in closer. They’re quiet for a couple of seconds, and Harry can hear the wind blowing outside, the walls around them groaning with it. It’s starting to feel scary again, the room suddenly seeming bigger and darker.

When Louis clears his throat, Harry jumps a little.

“You’ve never stayed the night, then?” he asks and Harry shakes his head.

“No, too scary.”

“So you’re a bit of an outsider, too. Never completed the ritual to be part of the community or whatever.”

Harry was literally born in the house he still lives in, in the middle of a snowstorm that kept his dad from driving his mum to hospital. He has known every single person in his town by name or sight his whole life, has gone to school with the same group of people since nursery. He’s never felt outside of anything for as long as he’s been alive.

He doesn’t say any of this. Instead, he tries to joke.

“Streaked across High Street once on a dare. I think that counts.”

“I suppose showing your bum to half the town counts, yes.” Louis fidgets next to Harry before slumpings back against the wall. “Don’t know what’s worse, that or this.”

Harry gives him a light shove.

“I was arrested, you know. That’s worse.”

He wasn’t really arrested, but he did spend most of the night at the police station, in a stranger’s clothes and no shoes on, drinking cocoa and chatting with the officer who grabbed him just before he completed his 200 meter run. _Arrested_ sounds better, though, makes him sound experienced and stuff. It makes up a bit for the fact that he’s never once left his village for longer than a month, or for someplace farther than his cousins’ house out in Bolton.

“I don’t know about worse,” Louis says. “Was the jailhouse haunted, too?”

“No,” Harry mutters, flicking his eyes around the room again. He feels _watched._ “But this old cat lives in one of the cells. He’s scarier than any old demon. Might be a demon himself, even.”

Louis laughs, making Harry’s cheeks go warm again, pleased.

“Scared of p—” He feels Louis tense next to him and Harry’s cheeks burn hotter, but for a completely different reason now. “Kittens! Scared of kittens. Fuck, sorry.”

Harry bursts out laughing. The sound echoes around them, and Louis startles, jerking away. Harry has to put a hand over his mouth to muffle the giggles and to keep himself from making a lewd comment that probably sounds a lot better in his head than it would out loud. Louis grumbles something under his breath.

“M’not scared of kittens,” Harry says after he’s calmed down some. And then, because he’s probably still high, either on weed or on Louis being so close to him, he whispers “or pussy” and Louis laughs and shoves him against the wall. “Ow.”

“You deserve it.”

Harry doesn’t care—he made Louis laugh again and he’s almost positive they’re drifting into _flirting_ territory—he’s all but floating off the floor.

He’s about to open his mouth to whine anyway when there’s a noise somewhere in the room, and his blood turns to ice. Louis grabs his wrist and squeezes.

Neither of them breathes. Harry’s ears hum, trying to pick up the noise again. It sounded like a floorboard creaking, like someone walking around somewhere in the dark. The room is big, bigger than the front room. Harry faintly recalls from past visits that it’s nothing but a big square, with a window (boarded up), a door (locked from the outside), and an old wardrobe (empty and falling apart, as far as he remembers). The latter is on the other end of the room. Harry can barely see it in the gloom. To him, it’s nothing more than a blackish blob sitting against the far wall.

But what if—What if there’s something coming out of it, alerted by Harry’s stupid laugh? What if it’s making its way towards them in the dark? A wild animal of some sort, something heavy enough to make the floor creak.

“You hear that?” Louis asks, so softly Harry can barely make out the words. He nods and pulls his knees tighter against his chest. “Did it come from in here?”

“I think so.” Louis pulls on his wrist. “Hand me my phone.”

For a moment Harry doesn’t register that Louis’ talking to him. He doesn’t remember taking his phone, he doesn’t even have his own on him. He’s staring out at the dark, trying to see whatever’s moving in the room but hoping not to see anything. Louis pulls on his wrist again.

“In my pocket.”

Harry’s fingers twitch, his belly swoops even as his eyes remain trained on the floor in front of them. He feels his neck heat up as he moves his hand—the one Louis’ holding—to the side until his fingers connect with Louis’ thigh, trace a line up to where a pocket should be and feels muscle tense and jump. Louis pulls Harry’s hand away.

“In my _jacket,”_ he hisses, and Harry has to bite his lip hard to keep himself from giggling like a nervous twat. Oops.

Louis’ mobile’s in the inner pocket of his jacket. Harry hands it over, digging his chin into his knees and drawing his arms around his legs as soon as Louis lets go of him. He can’t hear anything anymore, and the fear of a few seconds ago has morphed into a kind of nervous mortification. He just touched Louis’ thigh. Like, really high up on his thigh. Like, the tips of his fingers definitely bumped into something that _wasn’t_ his thigh.

Before he can dwell too much on this particular thought, Louis turns on his phone’s torch and suddenly the rest of the room is bathed in white light. It doesn’t quite reach the whole of it, but enough to see there’s no monster dragging itself towards them.

Louis moves the light from left to right, illuminating the dusty floor, littered with beer bottles and empty crisps packets, and the old wardrobe in the far corner, still mostly in shadows.

“There’s noth—” There’s a glimmer of something _(eyes!)_ on top of the wardrobe and the light jerks as Louis drops his phone with a stifled shout.

Harry pretty much dies on the spot and comes back to life in the span of a second, his heart literally stopping from fright.

The only reason he doesn’t stay dead, he thinks, is because suddenly Louis is pressing against his side so hard Harry’s squished against the wall, he’s draping himself over Harry as if he’s about to climb onto his back and, well, Harry has to be alive to enjoy it.

.

Louis’ heart hits the roof of his mouth and he throws himself against Harry, hard, with clawed hands pulling at Harry’s jumper. There’s something sitting on top of the cupboard on the other side of the room. Something with glowing eyes, something that moved when Louis pointed his torch at it.

Panic grips at his throat, crawls between his ribs, sending adrenaline rushing through his body, and he needs to fucking _run—_

There’s a bump, something dropping onto the floor, and Harry’s whispering frantically, “Lou, fuck, Louis, _Louis—”_ and Louis is grabbing at his arm to pull him to his feet but his own legs feel like cooked noodles, like there’s no way they’ll hold him up, and his phone fell screen up onto the cloak when he dropped it so everything’s dark again and Louis’ going to _murder_ Niall if he and Harry get eaten by a fucking whatever-that-thing-is because of him and he’s kind of kneeling, trying to get both himself and Harry up but only managing to push Harry harder against the wall when—

Something meows.

The instant, sudden rush of relief that courses through Louis leaves him dizzy, heart still pounding, hands trembling. Harry’s still mumbling nonsense and trying to stand, trapped in their makeshift blanket and, okay, still being held down by Louis.

“It’s alright,” Louis tells him, voice shaky. “S’just a bloody cat.”

“A _—_ what?”

Louis gropes around, finds his phone among the fabric and points the light out towards the room again. There’s a ball of black fur in the middle of the floor, pointy ears and all.

Harry slumps against him.“Oh,” he says.

“Yeah, oh.” It would have been nice of the cat to make itself known _before_ Louis made a fool of himself. He sits back down and bonks the back of his head against the wall. “Did you actually summon your demon cat here?”

“Um, no? I don’t think so…” Harry mumbles, shifting, letting his knees fall to the sides and leaning forward. “Cotton Paws isn’t black.”

“Demon cat’s called Cotton Paws?”

“Don’t know his real name,” Harry says and Louis looks at his profile, the focused look on his face, little curls springing out of the buns on his head. “He’s got brown fur and white feet. This one’s all black. Like a witch’s cat.”

A shiver travels up Louis’ spine and his shoulders wiggle with it before he can stop them. Harry doesn’t look like he notices. Louis glances at the cat. It’s just sitting there, curled into a ball and staring at them.

Harry puts his hand out.

“Maybe you shouldn’t—” Louis begins to say, but he stops short when the cat stands and trots towards Harry with a tiny meow. It’s not a kitten, but it’s also not the biggest cat Louis’ ever seen. Up close, its fur looks less black and more a dirty grey, covered in muck. It’s skinny and, going by the way it frantically rubs its head on Harry’s fingers and purrs like a running engine, touch-starved and happy to have company.

Louis instantly feels sorry for it.

“How long do you think it’s been here?” he asks, watching the cat climb onto Harry’s lap and stretch its neck to touch its little black nose to the underside of Harry’s chin.

Louis puts a hand to his chest, heart actually wrenching at the sight.

“Her name’s Sabrina,” Harry says, rubbing his chin on the cat’s head.

“Wasn’t Sabrina the girl?”

It takes Harry a second to reply, his long fingers stroking along the cat’s back, almost as if in a trance. Or, well, still high. Harry always gets weird about touching stuff when he smokes up, Louis’ noticed.

“Yeah, s’true,” he mumbles eventually. “But it suits her.”

“It’s a girl cat?”

“Obviously.

Louis laughs, endeared in spite of the dark, and the cold, and the fact that, monster or not, they’re still locked in a spooky room in a probably-haunted house. Sabrina’s ears twitch at the sound, and she fixes her dark eyes on Louis, tail swishing. Louis holds his hand out, not really aware of having made the decision to move before he’s watching himself do it. He half expects her to hiss at him, to bite him and give him rabies or turn him into a cat zombie or something, but she makes a chirping sound and bumps her hole face against his fingers instead, eyes closed in bliss.

Louis would die for this cat.

“She likes us,” Harry whispers and Louis nods, thumb rubbing between Sabrina’s closed eyes.

“What’s not to like? We’re cute, we’re cuddly, you’re even dressed like a big cat today.” Harry smiles, the drawn whiskers on his face shifting up. He’s definitely the cuter and cuddlier of the two of them, what with his dimples and warm, comfy-looking clothes. Clothes that right now mostly serve to remind Louis of how cold _he_ is. Also, his trousers are too tight to sit on the floor too long and the seams are kind of digging into his bollocks in a rather unpleasant way. He shifts his seat, trying to adjust himself as subtly as possible.

“You’re cold, Lou,” Harry says, and when Louis looks at him, Harry’s staring at the goosebumps dotting his bare arms. “You should come closer. I’m almost sure she won’t bite.”

Louis’ already sitting as close to Harry as possible without joining the cat on his lap, but he pushes closer anyway, pulling his knees up and gritting his teeth when the fabric of his trousers pinches sensitive flesh. He forgets about the discomfort when Harry puts his arm around him and pulls him closer, so close Louis slips his own arm beneath around Harry’s back and underneath his jacket to keep his balance.

He puts his mobile on the floor, torch up, and uses his free hand to pet Sabrina, who leans into every touch, arches her back and bumps her little face against their fingers, ecstatic about the attention.

“She can’t have been living here, right? The door was closed… how did she eat?”

“Maybe she’s got a secret way out. Like a hole on the floor or on a wall, small enough she can squeeze through.” Harry rests his head against Louis’, their faces close together. “Or maybe she’s been eating the rats.”

Louis belly turns at that, fingers faltering.

“Think there’s rats in _this_ room, though?”

“Don’t worry,” Harry says, slow and serious, “Sabrina will protect us.”

He’s an odd one, but there’s no doubt Louis likes him more than he’s ever liked another boy before. He’s liked Harry since the first time he saw him, chips shoved up his nose and all. In fact, Louis’ almost positive that Harry’s the main reason moving to this tiny village and changing schools on his last year of A levels has been mostly painless. Louis still texts his mates from Doncaster daily and has driven over on some weekends to see them, but Harry and the rest of the lads here feel like old friends. Louis definitely got attached fast.

“I’ve got food,” he says, remembering his bag and the haul of snacks he packed for all five of them. “Maybe we can find something safe for her to eat.”

Instead of moving away like a normal person would, Louis reaches out and drags the duffel over to him, happy to stay cuddled up under Harry’s arm. As soon as he does, parking the bag in front of him, the zipper still undone, Sabrina jumps in to investigate. Louis maneuvers around her and takes out a couple of crisps packets, some Milkybars, a bag of Maltesers and one of Haribo sour cherries, which Harry quickly plucks out of his hand.

“Like those, do you?” Louis says, trying hard not to smile. He’s learned what Harry’s favourites are.

“You can have some, too.”

“Um, shouldn’t I be the one saying that to you? Since _I_ brought them and all.”

“But you brought them for me, didn’t you?”

Louis can’t say no to that, so he turns back to his task while Harry tries to open the candy bag with his teeth, his other arm still around Louis. It’s no surprise that he manages to rip open the plastic all the way to the bottom and sends most of the candy cherries flying, making Sabrina jump and scurry away.

“Well,” Louis says, picking one up from their cloak-turned-blanket and popping it in his mouth. “That’s a way to do it.”

Harry’s looking around him, at the candy scattered everywhere, at the dark corner Sabrina’s retreated to.

“Shit,” he says, low and without any real inflexion. Louis would probably be a bit creeped out by the monotone if Harry weren’t so bloody precious, his brow pinched and his eyes worried. “I scared her.”

“S’alright, she’ll come back. I know I’ve got some sandwiches with ham in them for her when she does.” They’re somewhere underneath the beer cans and Sprite bottles, but Louis can look for them later.

He eats another candy and watches as Harry picks every sour cherry he can reach without getting up and piles them up in the space between his crossed legs. Louis’ not as cold anymore, warming up quickly sitting against Harry as he is, half underneath their cloak-blanket, but he would love to be able to change into joggers or something—the trousers are really starting to cut his circulation off. He wonders how Liam is faring in his skimpy shorts and hopes he’s suffering just as much as Louis is.

“My sister used to tell me a story about this house,” Harry says.

“Yeah?” Louis doesn’t want to hear it.

“Yeah, s’why I never wanted to come here in the dark before.”

“Oh.” Please, don’t tell it.

“Want me to tell you it?”

“Sure.” Fuck.

Harry puts a sour cherry in his mouth and Louis listens to him chew for a second before he says, “I don’t really remember it.”

Louis deflates with a groan, both relieved and disappointed.

“Are you serious?”

“I thought I did,” Harry mumbles. “It was something about missing kids turning up here with, like, their eyes cut off, or their tongues, I—”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“She used to tell me about it before bed and then she’d hide in my room and scare me,” Harry goes on while Louis looks out at the gloomy room and tries not to picture eyeless children standing against the walls. “She’d lie on the floor and crawl under my bed to pull at the covers. Or she’d stand over me and breathe really loud until I opened my eyes.”

“That sounds terrifying,” Louis says, belly tight just imagining it.

“I’d scream so loud our mum would wake up and, like, come running up the stairs with a broom or an umbrella, all ready to fight a burglar off.”

Louis smiles at that. He’s met Harry’s mum only a handful of times, but she reminds Louis of his own mother—affectionate and a little fierce about her kids.

“She’d get really angry but she’d let me sleep with her afterwards,” Harry says and just then Louis notices how Harry’s been rubbing his arm, palm going up and down from shoulder to elbow. Louis isn’t the least bit cold anymore.

He shifts again, accidentally nudging Harry’s side and making him flinch.

“Are you still high?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah, I think,” Harry replies. “But not as bad.” He’s still touching Louis’ arm, using the tips of his fingers to draw squiggly lines on Louis’ skin. He’s resting his head against Louis’ again, still hoarding a pile of sour cherries between his legs, and most importantly, still within kissing distance.

Tradition and pranks aside, the main reason why Louis was so interested in visiting the house was because he heard from his sisters that it’s the equivalent of Donny’s abandoned theater near the edge of town—a place where kids go to snog each other’s faces off. Louis only visited the theater a handful of times before they moved away but he can name a couple of significant differences between venues (most notable, the comfy seats and the lack of demonic presences).

This is sort of what he was hoping for ever since he brought up the idea of coming here, though: to be alone with Harry in a dark, quiet corner. Louis knows an opportunity when it’s staring at him in the face, even if there’s a chance they’re being stalked by an evil spirit, or spied on by their stupid friends.

Louis sits up and leans away, meeting Harry’s eyes. They’re mostly green again, pupils back to their normal size. They flick down to Louis’ mouth and Louis licks his lips out of reflex, stomach rolling. Harry turns his body towards him, something eager in his expression, a smile starting to pull at the corners of his mouth. They both know what’s going to happen in the next minute or so.

“You think—” Two things happen in quick succession, so fast that Louis’ not sure which is first: his phone light shuts off and the lock on the door unlatches with a definitive click. Louis’ voice dies with a squeak. He hears Harry take in a big breath.

And then, a groan. “Oh no.”

.

“What?” Louis hisses. “Oh no what?”

“I think they want to scare us,” Harry tells him, his heart beating fast from a combination of fear and the thrill of a few seconds ago, when Louis looked at him so determined and lovely. Harry’s lips are still tingling in anticipation.

“Who?”

“The lads.”

“Seriously?” Louis says, voice rising. “I think locking us in here was enough, boys!”

It’s dark again, and while his eyes adjust, Harry thinks he sees Louis pick up his mobile and check the screen. Something in the room moves, something that rustles in the darkness. Hopefully it’s just Sabrina, even if it would make her the noisiest cat he’s ever known. Harry tries not to think too hard about it.

“Battery’s dead, of course. Are we in a bloody horror film or something?” Louis grumbles. Harry misses him next to him, tucked under his arm. Stupid Niall. Stupid house. _Haunted_ house. House that feels as if it’s going to swallow them whole. If he survives, Harry may have nightmares for the rest of his life. He shouldn’t have talked about the stories Gemma used to tell him. What if he actually summoned something into the room? It could happen, if they were in a horror film. Although… in a film him and Louis would _probably_ have sex before being brutally murdered. And what was Louis saying earlier about shagging in a haunted house? That it’s a bad idea, surely. Besides, Harry doesn’t want his first time having sex to happen _here._

Then again, he wouldn’t mind if it were the last thing he got to do in his short life.  

“Maybe we should make a run for the car,” Louis proposes.

Running. Harry can do that. He’s not as high as he was earlier, he definitely feels a little more centered and not like he’ll topple over if he tries to stand. He’s almost sure he won’t trip if he runs, but he checks his laces just in case, even though he can’t see them very well. He thinks they’re tied properly.

“Fuck, what about Sabrina?” Louis says, pausing the hasty repacking of his duffel. “We can’t leave her alone.”

Harry’s heart stutters. He’s had crushes before—mostly on footy players, teachers, and one time on one of Niall’s older cousins when his family visited from Ireland. He’s familiar with the clenching in his gut, the heat that radiates from his collar, the daydreams and the never-ending longing. Whatever he feels for Louis is stronger than that. It feels safer than a crush, more like something inevitable rather than impossible, like they’re meant to be. It feels warm and nerve-wracking and it makes Harry giddy, makes him want to roll around the floor squealing, makes him want to start planning his wedding, squeeze Louis in his arms and promise never to let go.

He’s only known Louis for two months but he can’t imagine the rest of his life without him. Can’t even imagine next year without him, next _week._ Harry never thought he’d meet someone like Louis in his dusty old village. Clearly fate was involved. Clearly they were meant to meet each other.

Luckily, Harry’s not high enough anymore to say any of this out loud. But he’s still a little woozy, and that probably explains why he opens his mouth and declares, “You’re wonderful,” like an idiot. There’s silence for a beat or two.

“Well,” Louis says when he recovers, “thank you. You’re quite wonderful, too.”

“We can stay here,” Harry goes on, trying not to let his words stumble and tangle together. “Don’t give them the satisfaction. I—I’ll keep you warm.”

Again, Louis is quiet for a bit. There’s enough moonlight coming through the window to see his eyebrows have gone up, his eyes have gone wide. Harry refuses to let himself be embarrassed. He moves a little closer, sits right on top of the candy cherries he was saving for later and doesn’t care a wit.

He reaches out for Louis’ arm again, feels the cold skin against his fingers, and draws him closer.

“Alright,” Louis says. He allows Harry to pull him in, sitting up to walk on his knees until he’s between Harry’s legs and this is what Harry pictured when he imagined spending the night at the house: getting to hold Louis close like this, the dark making him brave instead of jumpy and paranoid, Louis putting his hands on Harry’s neck like he’s doing now.

Harry shivers at the touch of Louis’ cold fingers against the place where his pulse is racing.

“You’re a bit bold for a cowardly lion,” Louis says, a smile in his voice and Harry has to restrain himself from letting out his best imitation of a lion’s growl. This is not the time to remind Louis that he’s a giant geek.

“And you’re…” Harry falters, unable to think of a single thing that’s not too dramatic and too much like a serious declaration. He focuses on the fact that Louis is incredibly fit and sitting between his legs, face close to his, wearing the tightest trousers Harry’s ever seen a boy his age wear. He can’t really see them right now, but just knowing they’re there gets Harry riled up. Louis can probably feel his pulse going crazy against his fingertips.

“I’m what?”

“You’re…” Harry licks his lips. “You’re… really pretty.”

He sees the flash of Louis’ teeth as he grins, sees moonlight reflected in his eyes.

“You—” There’s a bang on the door and Harry jumps. “For fuck’s sake!” Louis yells, grip tightening on Harry’s neck. He looks over his shoulder. “Piss off!”

Another bang, and another.

“Wankers,” Louis mutters, turning back towards Harry. “You have the worst friends.”

“They’re your friends, too.”

“They’ve been yours for longer, I take no responsibility.”

Harry smiles and nuzzles at Louis’ wrist, making him move his fingers up to his hair instead. Harry’s entire body is heating up. He might be sweating.

There’s a knock. An actual, three-tap knock somewhere close and even though Harry _knows_ it’s the boys trying to get him to scream and run away, he stills flinches, heart pounding.

“Jesus,” Louis says softly, huddling closer. “This is daft.”

Harry agrees, but he’s still scared. _Why_ oh why did he have to talk about the stories Gemma used to tell him? Why did he had to remember the terrible visions that plagued his dreams afterwards? Visions of monsters under his bed waiting for their chance to pluck his eyes out, crawling up the side of the house to pull him out of bed, out of the window and into the night forever.

“They’ll get bored, eventually,” Harry says, unconvinced.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go to the car?” Louis asks and then there’s another series of quick knocks, and they both swivel their heads towards the sound.

It’s coming from the window.

“Oh, shit,” Louis whispers, voice a bit trembly. Harry feels sick.

“It’s just the lads,” Harry tells him, his own voice wavering with growing terror because there’s someone at the window. There’s a shadow shaped like a person standing outside. Sitting on the floor and with the boards obstructing the view, Harry can’t see who it is, but he can see the dark shape that definitely wasn’t there before. “It’s probably Niall, right?”

“Right,” Louis says quietly. “Probably.”

“Let’s… let’s ignore him.”

“Right.”

But they don't ignore him. Harry doesn’t want to look away, too scared to, and Louis seems to feel the same way. They sit there, clutching at each other, Harry’s muscles locked and read to spring to his feet or curl into a ball or something.

The shape outside is very still. The house creaks every few seconds and each time Harry’s heart jumps and his belly contracts. There’s a lump that might be a scream lodged in his throat and that, plus Louis’ fingers still on his neck, make it hard to swallow.

Then there’s a loud crash on the other side of the door and Louis curses and clings tighter and Harry feels like he’s going to start crying both from fear and because this is _not_ how he pictured Louis climbing into his lap. Fucking Niall’s ruining _everything._

“Alright, lads!” Louis valiantly calls, but his voice cracks and he doesn’t sound as stern as he probably meant to. Hearing him scared pushes Harry over the edge between really scared and honestly fucking terrified. His chest seizes and suddenly he feels paralyzed and vulnerable and trapped. Louis raises his voice again, “You’ve scared us! We’re sorry we tried to prank Liam! You win!”

Harry, who’s still looking at the window, lets out a whimper when the shape there finally moves. It glides to the right and disappears from view and that’s so much _worse._

“Harry,” Louis whispers, tone urgent. “I’ve got to tell you something and I’ve got to do it before I absolutely humiliate myself in like, ten seconds.”

“Tell me,” Harry whispers back, eyes flicking away from the window for a second to look at the dark shadow that is Louis’ face. When he looks back, the light coming from outside seems to have dimmed, as if the moon’s hidden behind a cloud. Oh God.

“I—I just, I think you’re wonderful and fit and a very good, like, um, person and I fancy you loads and I was hoping I’d get to kiss you tonight after making Liam piss himself but it’s backfired quite spectacularly.”

Harry’s heart thunders in his chest, body thrumming with it.

“I shouldn’t’ve mentioned Liam pissing himself when I’m trying to, um, ask you out but I’m really, properly afraid we’re about to be attacked or—”

There’s a scream, loud and anguished and coming from close by and Harry and Louis both scream along, hugging closer.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck they’re such fucking wankers, fuck,” Louis mutters, breathing the same air as Harry, their cheeks squished together. And then he shifts and says, “My prick’s getting bloody strangled in these fucking trousers. Sorry.”

Harry sputters out a laugh, all high and ridiculous and right in Louis’ face.

There’re more loud noises outside as a response, making both of them jerk with every bang and every crash. Whoever’s outside sounds like they're moving closer and closer, as if they’re banging the walls in the corridor leading to the room they’re huddled in and Harry’s thighs tense, his arms close around Louis and he stops breathing and—

The door bursts open. It hits the opposite wall and Harry screams and jumps up, dragging Louis with him, and he’s moving before he knows it, running and pushing Louis along, towards the door and past a cackling Niall. Cursing and scrambling down the corridor trying not to trip, bumping into Liam in his silly shorts and a hoodie he got from who-knows-where. Grabbing Louis’ hand and pulling him across the front room and out the front door, tears in his eyes even though he knows it was the boys all along, of _course_ it was. Louis is quiet behind him as they rush through the brown grass, through the gap in the fence and across the road.

The car is parked where they left it, cold when Harry presses his forehead against it to breathe and try not to be sick. He’s crushing Louis’ hand in his, and somewhere in the distance, he can still hear Niall laughing like a maniac.

“Fucking… arsehole,” Louis pants and then he snorts and stars laughing, too. Harry scowls.

“S’not funny,” he says. “What if _I’d_ pissed myself?”

“Did you?” Louis giggles and Harry has to turn around and look at him. It’s a bit brighter out here, and Harry can see the smile splitting Louis’ face, the crinkles by his eyes. A second later, he sees him frown. “Shit, I left my bag.”

“I don’t want to go back in there,” Harry says quickly. Already he’s starting to feel apprehensive again, standing in the middle of a deserted road, the bloody house still in sight. They didn’t see Zayn when they were running away. He could be biding his time, ready to jump at them when they least expect it.

“You know, people actually pay to go through all that,” Louis says a moment later, looking over his shoulder at the house.

“They’re all mental,” Harry mutters and pulls on Louis’ hand to get him to look his way again. When he does, they both smile.

“Yeah, they are.”

“I was, too,” Harry blurts out.

“Mental?”

“Hoping we’d kiss.” He feels a blush crawling up his neck. “I’ve only ever kissed girls before, though.” Only two, and Louis comes from the _city._ He’s got experience, probably. More than Harry, at least, because he hasn’t lived in a teeny tiny town his whole life, where getting kissing practice feels almost incestuous and you have to wait until your mates’ cousins visit or when you cross county limits to find people who haven’t known you since you were in nappies.

“Were you now?”

“Yeah.”

They stare at each other and then Louis is crowding him against the car and his mouth is pressed to Harry’s, sending electricity down to his toes. Wedding bells chime in the distance.

Harry screws his eyes shut, pushing back into Louis’ lips, kissing back and gearing himself to lick into Louis’ mouth at once, when there’s an obnoxious catcall coming from afar and Louis huffs through his nose. Harry has to stop himself from whining when he draws back.

“I’ve got a problem,” Louis says softly. Harry blinks.

“What is it?”

“I… really can’t kiss you while wearing these fucking trousers. There’s no room for me to, like, enjoy it.”

Harry laughs and looks down between them. He can’t see very well, but he knows how tight the dungarees are, and as much as he’d like to kiss Louis until they’re both hard, he doesn’t want him to hurt.

“And I left my mobile behind. And Sabrina. We’ve got to get her, too.”

They both look look towards the house and then at each other.

“In the morning?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, in the morning,” Louis agrees. “Wanna drive to the service area close to the motorway? I’ll buy you anything you want.”

Harry grins.

“Okay.”

The keys are in Louis’ jacket, which Harry’s mortified to find he’s still wearing. They get in the car (which still smells like weed) and wait a few minutes for the engine to warm up, keeping an eye on the house to make sure the boys aren’t planning on ambushing them during their escape.

“They’ve probably found the food,” Louis says which reminds Harry of the sour cherries he squashed with his bum. Explaining it to his mum when she does laundry next should be interesting.

Louis clears his throat when they’re finally moving, the car rumbling down the road and leaving the nightmare house behind.

“So, should I consider this a first date, d’you think?” he asks.

“Starting now, yeah,” Harry says, smiling big and goofy and quite pleased that his plan worked after all. Not exactly like he was hoping, but he got a kiss and a date out of the whole ordeal, so he’s happy.

“Yeah, let’s pretend I only just picked you up and nothing back there happened.”

“Almost nothing,” Harry corrects.

“Almost, right.”

“The kiss happened,” Harry says, just in case.

“Yes, that definitely, definitely happened.”

“You didn't complete the ritual,” Zayn mutters from the backseat where he’s clearly been napping and Louis drives the car into a ditch.

Harry, tongue bleeding where he accidentally bit it with the impact, promises never to try to be mean to Liam ever again.

He clearly can’t afford the negative karma.


End file.
